She nodded, unable to speak, sick with fear.

Peter walked to the door and went inside, pushing it closed behind him. Raisa and Maria stood in awkward silence till he emerged again, holding a few of the less remarkable gems in the palm of his hand.

“You see? They are worthless.”

The light in the corridor was dim, but still it sparkled on the facets of the stones. Maria held her breath.

“There were more than that,” Galina whispered, not addressing the observation to anyone in particular.

“Only a few more,” Peter said. “They’re all the same.” He closed his fingers over the gems. “Now, I’ll just go and see the man in number eight.”

Raisa put a hand on his arm. “Could I take a couple? I’d like to show my husband.”

Peter frowned. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be interested.”

“All the same.” She would not release his arm and held out her other hand, palm upward, waiting.

There was nothing Peter could do without turning it into an argument. He took a couple of the gems and placed them in Raisa’s hand. “Don’t bother to return them,” he said. “Perhaps Galina would like to play with them.” He walked down the corridor and turned onto the stairs. “I’ll be back soon,” he called to Maria over his shoulder, as if he was going for a relaxing stroll.

* * *

Peter threw most of the jewels into the canal that evening, keeping just the few he had shown Raisa. In bed, he whispered to Maria, “If the police come, say they are mine. As a shock worker I am more likely to be pardoned. We don’t want them investigating your past.”

“Raisa might not say anything. I hope you convinced her.” Maria’s voice wobbled.

“If I am arrested, go to my bosses at the factory, and to the Party heads. I think they will speak for me.” He sounded uncertain.

“It won’t happen. You are too valuable.” She could hardly get the words out, her throat was so twisted with anxiety.

Peter always slept well no matter what was going on, but Maria stayed awake long into the night, listening to his steady breathing, and tensing each time a car passed in the street outside. As dawn began to break, she let herself slide into a light slumber, and that was when it came: a loud banging on the door of their apartment, wooden truncheons hammering on the frame.

“Open the door,” a man’s voice shouted. “NKVD.”

Chapter 33

Leningrad, October 1937

DON’T ANSWER!” MARIA CRIED. SHE REACHED FOR her husband, but he was already out of bed and pulling on his trousers.

“Pack a small bag,” he said. “They might take me for questioning.”

“No, don’t go with them. Please don’t.” She had heard that some people who got into the dreaded black vans were never seen again.